


may you beautifully rhyme

by smithens



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Bisexual Character(s), Christmas, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Multi, Precocious Literary Children, They're Modern Folk, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Three Christmases at Brancaster Castle.
Relationships: Edith Crawley/Laura Edmunds/Bertie Pelham
Comments: 21
Kudos: 36





	1. 1927

"'It was a happy and reunited family which gathered around the Cordyce dining table that evening,'" Laura read, her voice a pleasant trill, "'the maids smiled…'"

Bertie laid his hand upon Edith's, interlacing their fingers, squeezing.

When he nuzzled her neck she hummed, contented, but kept her eyes on the scene before them — this was, after all, the resolution of a weeks' holiday for all of them, and now that they were fixed in Northumberland little Marigold was only able to see Laura so often… it was important that she savour each moment for her daughter's sake.

And it was Christmas, their Christmas, at home in England a family. No one could take this from them, not Mary, not Mirada — whom she'd come to love, of course, but one could love someone and have no desire to share their company, goodness knows she understood that — and not even the King Emperor.

For the night she was simply Lady Edith, woman, wife and mother, modern, intelligent. In a week she would return to state business, to being Lady Hexham, Marchioness, but for now… 

Yes, it was Christmas.

"Which of them are you paying more attention to?" said Bertie, in a low voice, lips grazing her ear.

She pulled from him and met his gaze, uncertainty in her eyes.

"What?"

"Which of – "

"I heard you," said Edith quickly, "only I don't know what it is that you mean."

He nodded, raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

She turned from him, blushing.

She did, of course, and was embarrassed that he'd noticed. It was the pregnancy, surely, that made her feel such things — all of those hormones, bringing out her maternal, nurturing instincts and the girlish habits she had long grown out of, muddling them up and melding them together. In Switzerland she hadn't dared to ask Aunt Rosamund about it; the situation was sordid enough as it was, and her dearest friends now were… 

Well.

They either had never been pregnant, or they had never been pregnant and they were _Laura._

"Edith, my dear, I only mean to suggest that – "

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were proposing something for your own sake," she said lightly, looking to him again, face a careful mask of indifference.

Bertie frowned.

Goodness.

 _"Do_ I know better!"

"I do like her," he confessed. "But not quite nearly so much as you do, darling."

 _"Really,_ Bertie, I…"

"Hush, Mama, hush," called Marigold from the hearth. "It's almost finished…"

"Her mother's daughter," murmured Bertie.

Laura looked up at them, smiling as she turned the page.

The sight of it, of her crinkled eyes and rose lips, her dearest friend and her beloved daughter settled by the fire in sparkling dresses and beneath a blanket, sharing a story, made Edith feel like a newlywed. The antelibrary was warm and smelled of pine, and her loving husband was caressing her hand, and she didn't know what to think.

Perhaps this was all a dream.

"I'm tired, darling," she said to Bertie, for she certainly was. "That's all."

And as though to prove it, she laid her head upon his shoulder and closed her eyes.


	2. 1928

"Auntie Laura!"

"Marigold!"

Laura accepted Marigold's run-and-jump embrace, holding her in the air for just a moment before setting her down again, both giggling. 

"You're growing just like your namesake," she told her, and Marigold's laughter subsided to a shy smile.

Edith stepped out from the car after them, made to kiss her daughter upon the cheek, and then got back in.

"I'll take the car back around myself," she said, "don't wait out here for me or I daresay you'll freeze – "

"But it is so lovely and warm inside," Marigold said seriously, and Bertie, who'd come out with her to greet them, concurred. 

"Yes, well," said Edith, "I don't suppose that will last for _too_ long – "

"Your sister isn't here just yet," her husband said. "Let's keep the cart behind the horse, shall we?"

And though Edith rolled her eyes, she smiled, and drove off to leave the two of them to explain the idiom to her daughter.

*

"Very precocious, isn't she," Henry said kindly. "And… rather awkward?"

"We do know where she gets _that_ from, don't we," muttered Mary, not kind at all, and her mother hissed, "Mary, not in mixed company, please."

Edith felt her cheeks turning pink. It was a risk, it always was, loving her daughter; it was a saving grace that it seemed none of her guests — well, Bertie's guests, really, although nor did _he_ have a true personal connection with them — had overheard the remark. But what on Earth had she expected? That Christmas cheer would serve to form Mary into a kind and charitable soul? It never had before.

Her earlier assessment had been so very, very wrong; the presence of her sister was not chilling so much as stifling and muggy, as it always was, at Downton and elsewhere. Even the Christmas tree seemed altered for it, its needles droopy, the baubles dull. Her imagination getting the better of her, but then… well. This had been a terrible idea, hadn't it — no matter _how_ averse she'd been to travelling with the baby boy she held in her arms, it might have been better to pass the holidays at Downton, if only to avoid feeling like a hen encroached upon by foxes in her own house.

She pretended not to have heard, gave an encouraging nod to Marigold and Sybbie in their (very sweet, very bright, not at all awkward) game of make-believe, and began once more to rock little Peter back and forth.

And still she was uncertain.

_Why must she affect me so?_

Her discomfort was noted, however.

"Many awkward little girls grow up to be remarkable women," said Laura with a gentle smile.

"Hear, hear," called Bertie, and her father raised his cup of tea as though to toast the sentiment.

At least _some_ people were on her side.

*

Laura's kisses were sweet and soft, Bertie's firm and mannerly; Edith yielded to both in turn and at once. Between the two of them she was herself, her whole self, unconstrained by duty and freed by love — why had she ever denied this part of her? Why had it taken her so long to realise?

"It's been nearly a year, hasn't it," she said after, hazy and satisfied.

"Yes," said Bertie, "the day after tomorrow."

And the anniversary of their wedding but days after.

"Happy Christmas," murmured Laura, "you are both so good to me, I…"

Bertie kissed her. She squeezed Edith's hand as he did so. 

The fire crackled; Edith sighed, eyes closed, happy. 


	3. 1929

"Oh, really, Laura, you needn't have," Edith began, but Laura shook her head.

"Of course I did," she returned, "and I know what you're thinking. You mustn't worry, dear. I may not be a Marchioness, but The Sketch is doing very well, all things considered."

She laid the parcels — three neatly wrapped rectangles and a box — down beneath the tree, then straightened and brushed off the front of her dress.

"That's wonderful news," said Edith wistfully. She did know the numbers, of course, she'd not given _that_ up, but Laura's tone as she said it was encouraging in more ways than one. "I suppose literature matters most in times of uncertainty, doesn't it."

A point of view dear, wonderful Michael had always espoused.

"Never a truer word was spoken," said Bertie, thoughtful.

"Yes, and, with a periodical one has something regular to look forward to…"

Laura trailed off; they all look to one another, pensive.

Edith frowned. "Oh, I do wish I were still – "

Bertie cut her off. "Edith, dear – "

"Oh, let's not quarrel over this now," said Laura. "Where are the children?"

Edith was at once grateful for and irked by the change of subject: with every year that passed she felt herself more removed from her loves and passions, and in times of cheer and togetherness as these the presence of her nearest and dearest seemed not to placate her but to induce a wish of having _more,_ of having _all._

"I believe Marigold's tucked away with a book somewhere," said Bertie, "and Peter is in the nursery."

"He must be very big," commented Laura, evidently delighted by the idea, and Edith smiled.

Thoughts of the magazine left her head for the moment.

"Yes, he is, rather — shall we go and see him?"

And so along they went to the nursery, through the great rooms and wide passages that were draftier and larger and stonier than anything at Downton Abbey and yet more pleasant all the same for who lived in them.

"I am terribly sorry I can't stay for long," Laura said.

"So am I," returned Edith, "but I suppose it worked out, in a way, didn't it."

"We'll be headed to Downton for the New Year," said Bertie. "If I am to be honest I much prefer the winter shooting here at Brancaster, but – "

"It isn't all about that," finished Laura for him, airily.

"Perhaps we'll come to you in London, soon enough," Edith said, and they all smiled.

The nanny stood when they arrived, with a bright, "your Lordship, your Ladyship, Miss Edmunds," but she sat again in her rocking chair after a gesture from Bertie permitted it.

To their surprise, Marigold was seated on the rug, indeed with a book, but her half-brother was toddling around next to her.

Whether or not he was listening to her performance was another matter.

"'…sat down on a large stone, and tried to think this out' – oh!"

"Hello, darling," said Edith, and Bertie, rather redundantly, said, "look who's here – "

The girl nearly tripped over the baby in rushing to hug the guest.

"I've so missed you," she cried.

 _In another world she needn't ever,_ Edith thought ruefully, _in another world she would know precisely who she was and be surrounded always by those who loved and adored her —_

"And so have I missed you!" said Laura, and she pointed to the illustrated volume on the floor with a smile. "Seven, now, aren't you? Is that all you're reading these days?" 

"Please don't tease me," said Marigold softly, "it isn't _my_ book."

Goodness, when she spoke like that Edith felt rather as though she were hearing herself as a girl.

"I'm very sorry; I didn't mean anything by it," Laura said kindly, and this seemed to resolve matters. "I hope you like what I've brought you for Christmas."

"Something to read?"

Bertie and Edith shared an amused glance.

"With very many pages," she said, almost mischievously, "and it even has your name on it."

Marigold looked at her skeptically. "Gifts always have names on them… how else would one know for whom they're meant?"

She had begun to develop quite a wit, although she didn't seem to know it: her questions, though sharp, were always as sincere as they were grammatical.

"I don't mean in that way," said Laura, "you'll see when you open it tomorrow morning."

And she smiled, and Marigold smiled, and Bertie took her hand, and Edith knew that no matter what was to come from here on out, it was this that mattered most.


End file.
